


Sighișoara

by Arukou



Category: Marvel Noir
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood Drinking, Catholic Steve Rogers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Horror, M/M, Team as Family (in a super twisted way), Vampires, World War II, arguably dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arukou/pseuds/Arukou
Summary: Steve is sent on a mission to the disputed Hungarian-Romanian border to find his sometimes lover, Tony Stark ofMarvelsfame.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54
Collections: Team Angst





	Sighișoara

**Author's Note:**

> Re the dubcon, Tony and Steve have been sleeping together prior this encounter, so Steve is very much enthusiastic about the sex, but he is also very much being mind-whammyed by Tony.
> 
> For the SteveTony Games Team angst prompt "Fluff: Team as Family." Let me get some angst up in your fluff.

“Rogers! Colonel wants you on the double!”

“Yes, sir!” Steve saluted and set aside the potato he’d been peeling. Before he could even begin a fast trot to the Colonel’s tent, Bucky appeared. “Mission, mission, mission,” he muttered under his breath, prancing anxiously on both feet. Freshly eighteen, he was more eager than ever to prove he belonged alongside the other Invaders, and it made the stretches between missions almost unbearable for him. Steve smiled indulgently and led the way. He was also fairly eager to leave the potatoes behind, though he wouldn’t say as much to anyone. No point in grousing when the action could be so disheartening.

In Colonel Phillips’ tent, he stood at attention while Phillips chewed a cigar and stared angrily down at missive after missive. “Churchill wants you in the Carpathians. Disputed territory on the Hungarian-Romanian border. Heavy shelling. We lost a major asset there and haven’t been able to reestablish contact since we started bombing.”

“What is the asset, Sir?”

“Our old _friend—_ ” Phillips’ tone made it clear what he thought of the civilian contractor”—Tony Stark, AKA Iron Man.”

Steve’s heart started beating double time almost instantly. Even before the war, he’d been a long-time fan of the _Marvels_ adventure books, and when, during various missions the past two years, he’d found himself working with _the_ Tony Stark, the boyish crush he’d nurtured before the serum transformed into outright infatuation, an infatuation that didn’t go unnoticed. On their missions together, he and Tony had come together in dark haylofts and bombed out buildings, sharing hasty blowjobs or handjobs, trading the kinds of feverish kisses that came of desperation in a time of war, huddling for warmth, companionship, trying their damndest to hold onto shreds of humanity in often inhuman situations. In his wildest dreams, Steve imagined the affair carrying beyond the end of the war, growing into two war heroes and self-proclaimed bachelors who were good friends to the public and committed lovers in private. The idea of seeing Tony, of _rescuing_ him, of spending weeks humping through the wilderness with him, seemed almost like a vacation compared to Steve’s usual missions to destroy Nazi facilities and do away with dastardly experiments.

“Stark was doing some recon on the border looking into some myth or legend or other. Horsehockey. Fury wouldn’t tell me the specifics, and I don’t really give a damn, truth be told. Stark’s always looking into loony Nazi mumbo-jumbo, so whatever it is, as far as I’m concerned, it's a waste of resources. But he’s one of the best inventors we have, and we can’t just let him fall into Nazi hands, or worse, the Soviets’.”

“Understood, Sir. Search and rescue. I’ll prepare the Invaders right away.”

“No, you will not.”

“Sir?”

“We need this to be quiet-like. The situation in Romania’s topsy-turvy. Word is they’re trying to style a coup to flip to the Allies. Last thing we need is drawing attention with Allied activity there. Need ‘em to still look like Axis as far has Heir Hitler’s concerned. You lot show up? Well, you’re known for causing trouble. We need Hitler fixed on France. Big things are coming down the pipeline, and we don’t want him turning his eye east right now. So the rest of your boys are heading to France to be flashy and cause trouble. It’ll just be you, Cap.”

“You can’t send Cap out there alone! He needs somebody to watch his back!” Bucky spoke out of turn, but Steve had to admit he had a point. Deep in Axis territory with shells falling everywhere, even Captain America might not get very far alone.

Phillips eyed Bucky the way he might eye a cockroach in the kitchen, champing on the cigar with even more ire. He’d never approved of such a young boy attaching himself to Steve, but it was the least of his worries as the war effort went, and since Bucky was already on the frontlines, not much could be done. At least not while Steve protected him. “I suppose you’re right. Can’t go losing Captain America to the Soviets either. They’d cut you apart like a lab rat just to see what made you tick.”

“And of course we’re not concerned about what the Nazis might do to me.”

“Course not,” Phillips groused, though this time there was at least an edge of humor. He shuffled a few more papers and then said, “You leave on a night jump tonight. Dark flight, dark jump. Civvies. Don’t need your damn star-spangled ass attracting attention. Additional brief is on your desk. Read it. Do your duty. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve and Bucky about-faced out of the tent. Bucky peeled off to do his own prep while Steve made his way to his tiny desk, hidden in a ramshackle tent on the edge of camp. Had to keep his identity secret, so the men had been told he did quartermaster work there. The mention of dry columns of numbers was enough to send them running for the hills. Little did they know his desk was scattered with codes, top-secret plans, mission debriefs, high-level intelligence. It wasn’t an ideal set-up, having all that sensitive information out where anyone might see, but so far, their lackluster system seemed to have worked.

Steve read over his brief, detailing Tony’s last known location somewhere near Sighișoara. As Phillips had said, there were no details on what Tony was chasing beyond “Occult object of enemy interest,” so Steve would just have to follow his nose for trouble. Sooner or later, it would lead him to Tony. He dressed for the mission, going with drab colors completely in opposition to his usual flashy uniform, and filled his pack for a lengthy mission. Even once they found Tony, they’d have to get him back to Allied territory, an endeavor that would take a good deal of time coming from a borderland under siege and surrounded to the north and west by Axis powers.

The call for departure came at 20:00, and he met Bucky on the airfield, boarding a rickety prop plane that would carry them deep into enemy territory. Bucky looked energized by the prospect of a mission, and Steve, too, felt a certain sense of anticipation. Maybe, with such a long journey back to safe territory, he and Tony’s heated affair might deepen into something stronger, something more committed. Steve allowed himself to daydream on the notion as the plane soared through clouded skies. Five hours later, they were over their drop zone, and Steve and Bucky jumped into the black night.

Below the clouds, the countryside was black as pitch, and through their descent, Steve began to feel his clothes soak through with icy water. It was raining over the border. Satisfied that no one would see them, Steve pulled his parachute, his enhanced eyes tracking Bucky above him. It would be easier for him to find Bucky in the dark, so it was Steve’s job to keep track of their positions and move through the mountains if they landed far away from each other. Below, the mountains loomed closer and closer, blacker and blacker, until Steve bellowed out his warning for Bucky. _Five hundred meters give or take. Get ready_ _for trees._

Luckily, Bucky landed quite close to Steve, but unluckily, they were both soaked to the bone. Unwilling to move through the inky early hours, Steve bundled them up against the gnarled bark of a tree under their nylon chutes to wait for gray dawn. He gathered Bucky close, his own body heat keeping him much warmer than normal men would be, and told himself to settle in for a few hours of sleep.

Normally in the field, Steve was able to sleep and wake at will with no alarm needed, but sleep was slow to come. The forest was alive with noise: drizzling rain, rustling leaves, wind moaning in the higher boughs of the trees. In the far distance, Steve thought he heard a wolf howl. And then another. Maybe he would forego sleep for the night; he could make it two days without if need be. Another howl made up his mind, and he settled in for a restless night, teeth on edge for no reason he could explain. It wasn’t as if this was the most frightening situation he’d been in during the war.

By first light, Steve was a bundle of tightly strung wire, all the more tight because he was angry at his own nerves. Bucky noticed his snappish mood and wisely chose not to comment, packing their wet parachutes as best he could in an oilcloth bag while Steve rustled up a cold, tinned breakfast. With it bright enough to read landmarks, even with the rain, Bucky shimmied up a tree to help get their bearings. He shouted down landmarks to Steve, who computed those all into a map, consulting his compass constantly. Most importantly for their purposes, Bucky could just see a huge building on a hill in the distance, most likely the fortress at Sighișoara. With a bearing and a general idea of where they were, they set off toward civilization and, Steve thought with a breath of relief, Tony. Illogically, he couldn’t help but feel that if they could only find Tony, everything would be okay.

Hoofing over wet, unfamiliar, unbroken forest took them most of the day, but toward the afternoon, they suddenly broke through the tree line into what was very clearly a tilled field. Blessed civilization, which meant road, dry shelter, and the start of their real hunt. At the farmhouse a few acres away, Steve sent Bucky to the door. He was loathe to do it, but Bucky’s German accent was better than Steve’s, and it was important they not draw attention to themselves. There was a chance the inhabitants wouldn’t speak German, but they’d at least know the shape of it and make their own assumptions about two strange men, one of whom was the epitome of Hitler’s blasphemous Aryan ideal, traipsing through the countryside and asking after a mysterious American. While Bucky spoke to the farmer, Steve did his best to look hard and imposing, standing several feet away with his hands tightly knit behind his back and a scowl on his face. A few Reichsmarks passed from Bucky’s hand to the farmer’s before he turned away and gestured sharply to Steve, leading them toward the barn next to the house.

“He says there were rumors of a strange man in Sighișoara a few days ago,” Bucky said, still speaking in German. “Black hair. Facial hair.”

“Sounds promising,” Steve returned, in German as well, but keeping his sentences as short as possible to cover his accent.

“He says we can stay in the barn for the night so long as we head out with first light.”

“Good.”

They were careful as they laid out things to dry. The chutes went up in the hayloft where they wouldn’t draw attention to how Steve and Bucky arrived. Their clothes went over the wooden gates keeping in the sheep and goats, all of whom watched with eerie silence as Steve and Bucky went about their business. Steve wanted to mention the unnatural quiet, but he dared not speak in English or French and was wary of testing the limitations of his German. He could tell from Bucky’s frequent glances, though, that Bucky didn’t trust their shelter either.

They settled under rough woolen blankets for the night, the rain still pattering above them. Determined to get some actual sleep, Steve forced his muscles to relax one by one, but even as he drifted off, he heard wolves take up the call again, howling, sometimes closer, sometimes farther. Even when it seemed the beasts were right outside the barn, still the sheep and goats made not a bray or baa, only shuffling nervously through their hay and dirt bedding. Steve’s dreams, when they came, were filled with icy blue eyes, a sharp half-smile, dark chuckles, whispered words not quite clear enough to understand, a sense of beckoning.

He woke with the first creeping fingers of gray dawn feeling restless, anxious, tired even though he’d slept the night through. Bucky sat beside him, eyes wide open and pale in the light, his cheeks somehow gaunt. Steve nearly spoke up to ask what was wrong, but at the last moment, remembered himself. As they packed their gear, the farmer’s wife appeared in the door with thick slices of dark, coarse bread slathered in soft goat cheese and a few eggs fried in bacon fat. She didn’t speak, but only watched them with dark baleful eyes, sunken deep into her wind-weathered face. They ate with haste and then set off down the road toward Sighișoara to find the mysterious black-haired American.

Once they were well away from the farmhouse, Bucky finally spoke. “That was strange, right?”

Steve grunted assent but didn’t add his own thoughts. The town was visible in the distance, gray on gray on gray. It was as though all the color had been washed out of the world. Yet he felt strangely drawn toward it, a low thrumming he could feel in his chest.

Bucky, after an uncomfortable pause, continued. “It sounds like it’s Tony, and this seems like the kind of place he always winds up. Creepy castles, abandoned tombs, booby traps. Just once couldn’t one of these rumored objects be in, I don’t know, the Ritz? Could barely sleep last night, what with the wolves and the bats.”

“Bats?”

“You didn’t hear them flapping around? They were up in the loft. Probably avoiding the rain, just like us. Creepy little bastards.”

For some reason, Steve was reminded of the rumors he’d heard last year about a German officer, Kriminalrat Blut. Blut, it had been rumored among the ranks, claimed he was a vampire, that he drank blood, was active only at night, and could transform into any number of things, including bats, wolves, and mist. Like many of the occult rumors flying around Hitler’s upper echelons, Philips had been dismissive, but Tony, Steve remembered, had been a little more apprehensive.

Tony wasn’t always entirely forthcoming about his experiences leading up to the war, but he’d revealed enough, in their brief post-coital embraces, to lead Steve to think a little more of mystical treasures and creatures that haunted humanity’s worst nightmares. After all, Steve himself would have, just a few short years ago, been dismissed as one of those ridiculous occult rumors. When rumors of Blut reached Tony’s ears, fittingly around a campfire in woods deep behind enemy lines, he hadn’t scoffed. Rather he had stroked his facial hair and stared into the dancing flames.

“You know,” he had said, his town drawing the concentrated attention of all the Invaders, “doctors have theorized that the origins of vampire myths lie in illnesses like porphyria, rabies, and tuberculosis. And then there are texts… Saint George’s Testament supposedly indicated he’d righteously slain a vampire. And there are mentions of those who consume human blood in Leviticus. Is it really so outrageous that some Kraut claims he’s a bloodsucker?”

Steve shook away the dark thoughts and focused on the town which sprawled before them, nestled in a valley between blue, wooded hills and mountains. Tony was waiting for him. It would all be better once he found Tony.

In the town proper, the residents scurried quickly, heads wrapped, bodies bundled against the cold rain. Only a few, ancient vehicles dotted the landscape, with the majority of people traveling on foot, several urging along scraggly donkeys on rope bridles. Steve and Bucky, with their bare heads, were given more than a few suspicious glances as they walked the cobblestone streets. They followed the general flow of traffic until they came to the town market, where wizened people bowed over wares. Tubers, goat cheese, shoes, coats, rare precious tins of sweets. Everywhere there were drab signs of hard times made only harder by the shelling. Evidence of that, too, was everywhere. Buildings with holes, piles of rubble, windows veiled in blackout curtains repurposed from patched old sheets.

Bucky approached a baker and, flipping a Reichsmark through his fingers, began asking questions. Steve resumed his stern face and rigid stance, trying to look as intimidating as possible—not a hard feat with these bent, weary people all around. The baker’s face grew more and more terrified, and she shook her head urgently, objecting in what sounded like Hungarian. Bucky’s tone grew sharper still, demanding an answer. Shaking, the woman pointed toward the fortress before collecting her wares and fleeing. The neighboring seller in her stall, filled with greens Steve didn’t know the names for, glared at them and began chewing Bucky out, this time in what was clearly German.

“What right have you? Do you know, do you _understand_ what it is you ask? For you, an adventure! For us, life and death! I hope you find your American! I hope you learn what our fear is!”

She spat at Bucky’s feet and turned her face away, crossing herself. Bucky didn’t offer an apology, but he did drop several coins on the table. “For your trouble. And the baker’s.” He said, turning away. To Steve: “The fortress, they say.”

“Then to the fortress.” Steve could feel eyes on them as they exited the market, not only from the villagers, but also, strangely, from above. Steve didn’t dare look up, loathe to show any signs of fear, but his hackles raised. Even worse, he couldn’t discuss the townspeople’s obvious anxiety with Bucky. The further they got up the hill, the fewer people on the road, and those they did encounter hurriedly crossed themselves and disappeared down back alleys. Bucky grumbled lowly, “Guess word travels fast.”

As if to complete clichés, a storm gradually drew down the valley, lightning flashing on nearby peaks. Daylight fell away, leaving Steve and Bucky stumbling up cobblestones slick with rain, glowing almost green in the ominous lightning. Not a townsperson in sight. They crested the central hill just as the rain picked up, and Bucky approached the portcullis of the fortress. As if sensing them, a low, narrow side door swung open, though still Steve and Bucky couldn’t see anyone. Trading looks, Bucky drew his pistol, as did Steve, though he loathed to use it. His shield was too distinctive, though, and he would only pull it out in a worst-case scenario.

He watched Bucky’s six as they entered back to back, Steve swinging the door shut behind them. Bucky skirted the edge of the inner courtyard, approaching the huge wood double doors covered with ornate wrought-iron filigree. Above them, the stone parapets loomed huge, and the rain picked up even more, lashing in sheets. “Stevie, I feel like we’ve walked straight into one of your cheesy pulp novels!” Bucky shouted over the din of the storm, no longer afraid of being heard given that any sensible person would be sheltering indoors.

“If we have, Bucky, then a beautiful dame in need of saving is just around that corner, and she’ll be very thankful to you!”

They reached the double doors, and Steve braced himself to open them, waiting for Bucky’s signal to enter. After trading a meaningful look, Bucky shoved his shoulder into the door, pushing its heavy weight back enough for Bucky to slip through. Steve followed, pushing the door shut as he took three-o’clock. Almost instantly, the racket of the storm disappeared.

Within, the grand hall was filled with standing candelabras, all of them lit. A plush red carpet lined the central staircase, vaulting up into shadowing halls and corners. The air smelled faintly of incense. Steve looked up into the Gothic vaulted ceilings. “What was that you were saying about one of my pulp novels?”

“Where’s my dame, then?”

“She’s here.” At that voice, all of Steve’s apprehension lifted.

“Tony!” If Tony was here, nothing was impossible. Steve could do anything. At the top of the grand staircase, where previously there had been nobody, Tony stood. He was dressed uncharacteristically in a red silk smoking jacket and a pair of fine slacks that looked as though they might belong to a matching tuxedo.

Steve dropped his guard immediately, though Bucky remained on point, his gun held at a lowered but alert angle. It wasn’t that Steve wasn’t wary of the situation, but the relief at seeing Tony looking relatively unharmed, whole, hale. Well, come to think of it, maybe “hale” wasn’t the right word. Tony was extremely pale, dark circles under his eyes. But when he descended the stairs, he seemed almost to be floating.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Steve?”

“We were sent to bring you home. Fury said you’d gone missing in this area.”

“Well, missing in a manner of speaking. I’ve been ill. The gentleman who owns this fortress is a secret informant for the Allies, and he was kind enough to take me in, though apparently everyone knows I’m here anyway if you were able to find me.”

“Well, the townspeople know about you, at least. That’s how we found you. Intimidating them.”

“You, Steve? Intimidating.”

“We pretended to be SS,” Steve said with a blush. “Or, at least we intimated we were.”

“Your German must have gotten better then.”

“He still sounds like he’s speaking through a helium balloon,” Bucky groused, still looking on edge. He still had his weapon out. “You sure we’re safe here? This is Axis territory, and there have been bombings.”

“I assure you, the cellars will keep us safe if the bombs come, but with a storm like that outside? I think we’ll be fine tonight. And Sighișoara is hardly a strategic stronghold. The Krauts have other things on their minds. Now come. You’re both soaked. Let’s get you into some dry clothes and warmed up. Natalia?” A red-haired beauty was at the top of the stairs, though Steve had somehow missed her arrival. “Would you show Bucky to a room and have someone draw a hot bath for him? I’ll do the same for Steve.”

Bucky grudgingly followed the red-haired woman, though he cast several looks back and only holstered his gun after Steve shooed him along. Tony extended a hand and led Steve up the stairs down the opposite corridor.

“Your hands are freezing, Tony. Are you still sick?”

“A bit, but I’m feeling much better, I promise. It’s not often I’ve gotten to have this kind of luxury on the war front. I confess, I’m feeling a bit spoiled.”

Tony led Steve into a well-appointed room, thick with velvet hangings, heated by a crackling fire. Outside the shutters, Steve could just see the flashes of lightning, but the storm seemed so far away. With the door closed, Tony descended immediately, kissing Steve teasingly, nipping at his lips, running icy hands over Steve’s jawline.

“Let’s get you out of these wet things,” he growled, yanking Steve’s bomber jacket off. Steve’s clothes fell to the floor with wet thuds, but Steve could hardly be bothered to worry about ruining the lush furnishings with the way Tony was lighting his flesh on fire. It had been months since their last encounter, and while Steve didn’t expect that Tony was maintaining any kind of fidelity, Steve hadn’t been able to bring himself to relieve his needs elsewhere.

Tony’s hands were everywhere as he urged Steve backward into an antechamber where a steaming bathtub already waited. Steve tried to divest Tony of his clothes as well, but Tony caught his wrists and moved them behind his back, kissing and sucking at his neck as he steered him to the bath. “Need you,” Tony growled into Steve’s skin.

“Then have me,” Steve panted, hips rocking urgently against Tony’s torso. The next several minutes were a blur of skin and heat, and somehow Steve lost track of everything save the burning need in his gut. Tony’s hands were on his cock, he was sure. Or was it Tony’s mouth? But wasn’t Tony still sucking at the skin of his neck? And Tony’s cock rubbing urgently against his stomach. Where had Tony’s clothes gone? Before, he wouldn’t… Fuck, Tony’s nails raking into his back, stinging oh-so-sweetly. Steve came with a shuddering gurgle, and for a time, he knew nothing at all save the all-consuming light of his orgasm. For something that had been so rushed and urgent, their encounter also seemed to stretch on for ages. It had never been so intense before, so pleasurable and sweetly painful.

Steve came back to himself in the bathtub, leaning back against Tony’s chest. The hard case of the orichalcum was a comforting cool presence against Steve’s shoulder blade. His neck twinged with lovebites, and his hips, when he glanced down at them, were dotted with fingerprint-shaped bruises. In the back of his mind, he thought that fact should give him pause, but riding high on the crest of his orgasm, he couldn’t feel anything but deep satisfaction. Tony toyed with one of his nipples, trailing quickly cooling water over the pebbled peak.

“That was lovely, darling. I’ve missed you.” His voice seemed so melodious, almost hypnotic. Steve wanted to fall into it, lose himself in it, drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep. “I bet you’re hungry. Pepper, James, and Jarvis are all here too. We’ll have dinner with them. How does that sound? One big happy family?”

“Bucky and Natalia too?” Steve asked, his voice soft, almost weak.

“Of course, darling.”

“Who is she anyway?”

“Soviet spy sent here to look for the same thing I was looking for. We ran into each other, and since our goals align…” Tony shrugged against Steve’s back, his hand dipping below the water to where Steve’s cock was already half-hard again. “She’s deadly, probably not trustworthy, but for some reason, I trust her.”

“And I trust you,” Steve murmured, his attention almost entirely on Tony’s hand where it toyed with him. “So I guess I’ll trust her.”

“Oh, Steve, darling. You honor me.” As though to reward him, Tony gripped Steve’s cock and started up a sweet, torturous rhythm. “You’re so beautiful. We’ll have dinner, but first, let’s take care of you, hmm?”

Steve could do nothing but surrender to the touch. His focus narrowed down to a fist and a rhythm, blood throbbing hypnotically, heart beating frantically, neck and hips aching for more more more. And Tony gave it. Sweet pleasure, icy skin on burning flesh, teeth at his neck, nibbling in more lovebites. The other hand toying with pebbled nipples, occasionally flashing down to Steve’s balls to fondle and play. Sex with Tony had always been good, but never like this. Time disappeared again, and his world became pleasure and sweet pain, and pleasure again.

When Tony was done playing with him, they rose from the bath, though Steve was so lassitudinous he could barely stand. Tony supported him at the waist, helping him along back to the bedroom, where he dressed Steve in warm flannel pajamas and a silk smoking jacket in blue and then led him back out into the fortress, down candlelit hallways lined in shadows.

They came to a grand dining room, the table already loaded with roasted meats, potatoes, soups, vegetables, meringues, jellied fruits, and more. Steve had seen such sumptuousness only at Churchill’s table, and his stomach gave a rumble at the spread. He hadn’t eaten such good-looking food in months, maybe even years. Jarvis, James, Pepper, Bucky, and Natalia were already at the table, though the head and its right-hand were left free.

As Steve and Tony entered, all heads turned to them. Something stirred in the back of Steve’s mind, a twisting thread of unease. They, all of them, looked like Tony, pallid, deep sunken eyes; even Rhodes looked…ashy, somehow. Bucky, too, now looked pallid, and Steve noted that Natalia’s hand was on his, their fingers interlaced. His earlier thoughts about Blut suddenly returned, though Steve had no idea why. What did that have to do with the delectable spread before them?

Tony led him to the right-hand seat and helped him down before taking his place at the head of the table. He looked around at them all and smiled, and there was something sharp, unearthly about that smile. The twist of unease grew, squirmed in Steve’s mind. Something wasn’t right, if he could only remember, if he could only put his finger on it.

“Here we are,” Tony said, spreading his hands wide, “gathered together, as family should be.”

He raised his glass of red wine, as did the others. Steve’s glass was empty. Why was the glass empty? For some reason, he wanted his shield. His fingers twitched, as though reaching for the arm straps.

“In times of turmoil, it’s so easy to lose track of the things that really matter, but I’m glad to see that we all understand now that the thing that’s most important here is each other. And now that we’re together, let us never be parted again.” Tony’s smile still looked wrong, looked sharp, but Steve couldn’t quite look at it straight on. His eyes seemed to glide back to Tony’s icy eyes, no matter how hard he tried to look elsewhere.

Tony drank, as did the others, and the wine-stained his lips a fetching red. Steve would’ve drunk if he could’ve, but no one had poured him wine yet. Instead, he began filling his plate with the feast, his stomach demanding to be filled. The food was luscious: succulent, salty, filling, fatty, all the things he’d longed for during cold hikes through the woods and even before, when his life was wracked with poverty and his meals were usually boiled vegetables and not much else. It took him quite some time to realize none of the others were eating. They were all watching him eat, their eyes hungry, their lips red, their smiles…disturbing.

Something cracked in Steve’s mind. The twisting thread had grown into a writhing snake, and finally, it was pushing out of its box. Blut. Vampires. The ache in Steve’s neck redoubled, and suddenly, he wondered if what he felt wasn’t a lovebite at all. Ice trickled down his neck as he glanced around again, now mindlessly shoveling food into his mouth as reality descended on him, and the horror of what he was seeing gradually became clear.

That wasn’t wine in those glasses. It wasn’t wine.

 _Tony!_ The anguished cry filled him, took over his mind, bound his ribs so that it was hard to breathe. _No! Not like this!_

Could he be saved? Could the others? How did one cure vampirism? Steve wracked his brain, trying to remember _Dracula_ , trying to remember all the movies he’d seen as a young man, trying to remember if he’d read anything at all. Religious symbols. Weren’t vampires supposed to be sensitive to crosses, hallow ground, prayers. If Steve started reciting the Lord’s Prayer right now, would it send them all to the ground? Would it save them? _Bucky!_ _Only eighteen. I should never have let him come._

Steve glanced down at the silverware in his hands. Was it real silver? Did that have an effect on vampires? And what if Steve _killed_ Tony? That wouldn’t be any better. That would be agony every bit as bitter as Tony as an undead bloodsucker.

“Steve, are you finished?” Bucky asked, his smile just as unnerving as the others’. Was the change really so quick? Or was something of the living Bucky left in there?

“Oh, I think I’m still hungry,” Steve said, reaching for a meat pie. He could put away quite a bit, and he tried to think up a plan as he stuffed himself. He was supposed to be the man with a plan! He could do this.

“Do you think this adventure will go in _Marvels_ someday, Tony?”

“I’m not sure if that would be any kind of story. Man gets sick in Romanian town. Lives in the lap of luxury. I don’t think the readers would much enjoy that.”

“No. No, you’ll have to jazz it up a little.”

“I can think of some ideas,” Pepper said, her fingers twining with James’. “A brush with some dastardly Nazis, saved by Captain America, a heroic escape aboard the zeppelin. Perhaps a special guest.” She traded a look with Tony, as if her words had particular significance. Of course. Someone must have made them like this. If Steve could find that person, would that undo the curse? But how would he even go about it?

He imagined the vampire would be in the lower levels, safe from sunlight and well-protected from the bombing. If he recalled, in _Dracula_ , beheading was effective. At least it was a plan, and he thought he could manage it. He set down his silverware and picked up his napkin, blotting at his lips. “That was delicious.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Natalia said. “I’ll have to let the cook know.”

Steve stretched and yawned, making a show of it. “I don’t know about you all, but I’m bushed. And Tony, you said you’re still recovering. Should we call it a night?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Tony said with an indulgent smile. The sharpness was clear to Steve now: the fangs, the translucency of the skin. Steve accepted Tony’s helpful arm around his waist as they started a grand procession out of the dining room, all of the vampires following behind. When they reached the grand staircase, though, Steve made a break for it, dashing down the stairs as quickly as his superhuman speed allowed. There! A staircase to a lower level. He dashed for it only to see Jarvis in front of him. Agonized, Steve bowled him over. He didn’t want to hurt them. They were his friends! Bucky was his brother! Tony, his lover! But he needed to save them. Hopefully, they would forgive him the bruises. The stairs led down into a damp cellar, a long corridor which stank of mold and decay. Shadows moved in the corners, and from the corners of his eyes, Steve saw what looked like red eyes, sharp teeth. He pushed his speed faster.

Natalia’s hand at his ankle, her fingers a vice, her nails like claws. Steve tried to kick her off, his foot lashing into her nose. He heard a sick crack, but there was no blood, only red rage in her eyes. Still, it was enough that she loosened her hold of his foot, and he bolted forward, scrambling down, down, down.

“Steve.” That was Tony. His voice somehow soft, right at Steve’s ear, almost inside his very head. “Steve, why are you hurting me like this? Don’t you want to be family? Steve, we’re meant to be family.”

“Tony, this isn’t you!”

And suddenly Tony loomed before him. “Of course this is me! This is me as I never dreamed! My heart is healed! I have all eternity to search out the strange secrets of this world! The orichalcum allows me to resist _his_ commands. Together, Steve, we can break free of him, make our own family, be together forever.”

Tony’s hands on his shoulders, nails digging deep and drawing blood through the silk. Around him, the vampires circled, slavering, fangs flashing, hands touching him everywhere. Steve gulped air as he was forced to his knees, the weight of Tony’s will coming to bear on his. With a last gasp, Steve reached for his childhood, for words which were etched into his tongue.

“Pater noster, qui es in cœlis, sanctificatur nomen tuum, Adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cœlo, et in terra.” Tony hissed, as did the others. They shrank back, twisting, writhing, fangs bared and claws turned skyward.

“Steve, Steve,” Tony groaned, catching his eye. “You’re hurting me, Steve.”

And the hurt was as if it was Steve’s own, his own heart aching with the words, squeezing like he was a skinny beanpole all over again. “Panem nostrum cotidianum…da…da…” Pushing against the weight became harder still. He didn’t want to hurt Tony. He loved him. Why was he doing this? _No! No, Steve, fight back! You never met a bully you wouldn_ _’_ _t fight._ “…da nobis hodie, et dimitte…nobis…debita…nostra…”

The vampires were standing now, sensing his weakening will.

“Steve,” Tony crooned, reaching for his face. “You don’t want to hurt me. You don’t want to hurt me.”

“..sicut et…et…Pater noster. Pater noster. Pater…” His brain moved through syrup. He couldn’t remember the words, and Tony’s touch was so sweet and gentle.

“You want to be with us. To be family with us. Don’t you?”

“Pater noster. Pater noster. Pater noster.” Steve whispered, but his world was being consumed by Tony’s icy eyes. Tony’s icy, beautiful eyes.

“Don’t you?”

“Pater…”

“Steve.”

“Pa…”

“My love.”

“Pa..”

“Come to me.”

“Yes.”

But then Bucky’s voice, wavering, agonized. “Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra, , sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris, et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo.” By the end of the prayer, Bucky’s voice was barely more than a whisper, so Steve reached for the doxology.

“Quia tuum est regnum, et potestas, et Gloria, in saecula. Amen.” With the Amen, Tony fell to his knees, as did the other vampires, joining Bucky where he was for the moment helpless on the ground. Steve stepped past them all, looking at the ornate crypt door they had come to. “Drakul” was inscribed upon it, and Steve took up the Lord’s Prayer again, muttering it with all his heart, cringing at the way Tony twisted in agony. _Hold on, Tony._

Within the crypt was an ornate coffin dressed in gold leaf, etched with scenes of battle. A weapon. Steve needed a weapon. There! A torch. A stake, once he snapped the wood, muttering his prayer over the wood, ragged and sharp. “Panem nostrum,” he said, gripping the heavy lid with his free hand. The vampires crawled behind him on the floor, all of them looking sunken and dry as desert mummies as the prayer did its work. With a mighty heave, the last of his strength, it seemed, Steve yanked the coffin lid aside. Without pause he drove his makeshift stake down down down for the heart. Beheading could come after the thing was subdued. A scream. A crash.

The coffin was empty.

“No.”

“Yes,” Tony hissed, rising to his feet as if floating.

“I told you, the orichalcum freed me of _his_ control. We drove him from here. He’s somewhere else now.”

Steve’s knees gave out from under him as he stared into the empty coffin.

“Oh, Steve,” Tony said at his ear. “Did you think you could save me? So sweet of you.”

Tony’s hands on his shoulders. Tony’s eyes before his.

“You said yes,” he crooned, touching Steve’s jaw. “You will be mine. Ours. All of us together. Forever.”

Steve had not the strength to call up the Lord’s Prayer again. He looked to Bucky, who remained on the floor, Natalia seated over his thighs, writhing against him, her wrist to his mouth, feeding him. He sucked hungrily, lips stained red. There would be no help from there.

Tony’s lips were on his neck, and sweet agony beckoned. He closed his eyes and let it take him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/) for more nerdery.
> 
> Also, I'm marking this as Ambiguous ending because they might end up being good vampires! Who knows? Not me!


End file.
